


A Peculiar Solace

by writeyourownlifestory



Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018) Actor RPF
Genre: Depression, M/M, Psych Ward, Reference to past child, Reference to sexual abuse, References to suicide attempts, mentally ill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-12
Updated: 2019-02-17
Packaged: 2019-10-26 23:06:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 11,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17755202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writeyourownlifestory/pseuds/writeyourownlifestory
Summary: All Joe Mazzello wanted to do was make films. So when that didn't work out, his next plan of action was to write. And when that backfired, his final goal was to end his life. As it turned out, he's not good at any of the above. Forced into a 30-day stay at a psych ward, Joe tries to make the best of it so he can get out and complete his final goal. The only thing stopping him at this point: the gorgeous blond patient just down the hall from him.





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> First I just want to say none of this is real. It's just a messed up story that came from a messed up mind. I do not go into great detail about anything, so this isn't a perfect representation of depression. I've had my own demons and suicide attempts so I tried to make it as easy going as humanly possible despite being an incredibly heavy subject. 
> 
> Please take it all with a grain of salt. It's a tough topic, but I did my best. I hope you enjoy it.

 

 

Joe had always liked the color white. It was empty, full of possibilities. The room he was in now was white. White walls, white floors, even a white ceiling. The outfit they had given him was while too. Easy to stain, though he very much doubts he would have the chance. Joe wouldn’t be seeing the outside world for quite a while.

It was insisted upon by his doctors that he stay at this place for at least a month. It wasn’t long, but it seemed like forever. His insurance would pay for it all, allowing him to stay a bit longer than necessary. Everybody thought it was for the best. His friends. His family. The people around him who didn’t say or do anything when the signs first began showing.

Joe was a good actor, that much was true. He couldn’t blame the people. He pretended to be happy. Acted like his life wasn’t falling apart. Acted like he wasn’t completely hopeless and miserable. Like the world wasn’t a terribly cruel place to live in.

At first, he was angry. It was bad enough that he didn’t complete his mission to leave the world behind but to be forced into some looney bin because it was just wrong. If they didn’t want him to kill himself, you’d think they’d put him in some place he’d actually wanna go. Like Universal Studios or wherever they scattered Gene Kelly’s ashes.

He was more annoyed than anything, to be honest. He had plans. Like bleeding in his bathtub, letting his blood go down the drain and letting the poor coroner deal with his body. He had already taken care of his possessions. Important things were in boxes. Anything that wasn’t worth keeping had always been donated. He made a short list of who he wanted to have what.

It would have been an easy cleanup.

But noooo everything just had to go to shit. Instead of slitting his wrist long ways, like you were supposed to do it, Joe decided to be a dramatic little bitch and do it across. He had never seen so much blood before and without even realizing it, the man got light headed. That caught him to fall into the bathtub, hitting his head, knocking him out, and the loud bag alerting his neighbors of what was going on.

Not exactly the more graceful reveal, to be completely honest. He was left with a semi-healing scar on his left wrist and a severe bump on the head. Everybody took it pretty hard when they found out and his family decided to do something and get him help.

Leaving Joe on his own devices was no longer an option and since his family had lives they had to live, it wasn’t like they could just abandon everything and take him in. He needed constant surveillance. They had to make sure he was all right, that he wasn’t going to try again.

Joe wouldn’t have tried again. At least not with that method. He would have done something else the second time around. Like sitting in the garage while the car was on or swallowing a whole bottle of pills.

He knew this was why he was admitted in the first place. The sad thing was, he wasn’t even that depressing of a guy. He would still smile. Still, laugh. He’d tell jokes and be social. He was just unhappy.

And he knew it was bad, trust him on that. Ooh, a thirty-year-old white guy with a decent paying job was unhappy with his life. How fucking groundbreaking. He felt bad for feeling bad and that only made him feel worse. At least if he was gone then nobody would have to feel anything anymore. The world would be over and he’d be free.

But fate had a funny way of playing out.

Joe signed away his rights as a free human. For one month — 30 days — he would be living at the ward. In a tiny room where there were no sharp objects. Where the bed sheet was practically glued to the bed and the blanket was made of wool. There was nothing in his room he could use as a weapon and he was forced to take medicine that was supposed to make him feel better.

He would meet with a specialist and go over his diagnosis. So far it was depression, but they always wanted to look for more. More issues meant more medicine. He wasn’t even able to hide his pills under his tongue like they do in the movies. They check out. Even stick a bottom swab up in your mouth to make sure you aren’t hiding it in your cheeks.

They’ve gotten smarter, the fuckers.

The first day was basically a walk around. He settled into his room, which was white and comfortable. There were some bullshit, inspirational quotes on the walls but nothing overly pushy.

The administrator made it very clear that this was supposed to be his home for the short while he was staying and wanted him to get comfortable. He could hang out in the common room — witch tv or play ping-pong. He could go to the library and read or sit out in the garden and take in the fresh air.

There wasn’t a place to work out, but they had some male nurses who looked strong enough who could show him a thing or two. He wasn’t allowed to sit alone in his room all day. That was against better judgment because they didn’t want you thinking. Thinking to them meant more self-loathing and plans for finishing the job.

Joe didn’t care either way. He knew it wasn’t going to matter. Not like he would stay there for a month, pop a couple of pills and then boom! He’d find the will to live. Joe had 30 days to just get out and then when he was back out on the streets he would finish what he started.

For now, it was playtime.

They suggested that you introduce yourself to the other residence, as bringing along human interaction was part of healing. It wasn’t forced upon but when the nurses were smiling and suggesting you sit along with the others while something mindlessly plays on the small tv in the sitting room, it was hard to ignore.

There were three watching the tv when he came into the room. Two in chairs. One on the floor. Two men and a woman. Nobody spoke to him when he came into the room. He wasn’t sure what was playing on the screen — it was a black and white film or maybe even a show. He didn’t care.

There were two others playing a lazy game of ping pong, just bouncing the ball back and forth. Joe didn’t see the point in playing if you weren’t trying to win.

There was another standing by the window, just looking out of it. Not really looking for anything. Just staring.

They were all matching. Wearing white shirts, white pants, and white shoes. White, on white, on white. A boring, blank canvas.

Joe joined them, feeling worse than he had prior to when he left the room. Nobody interacted. Nobody even bothered. It wasn’t like in the movies where the people were wild and crazy. Nobody was talking to themselves or putting up a fight. They just existed in the same space. Nobody living, just existing. It was exhausting.

When it was time to eat, Joe sat at one of the tables, not bothering to see who he was with. The food was basically mush. Nothing with bones or anything you could really choke on. They were given plastic spoons on plastic plates. They were given either water or milk or orange juice in plastic little cups. All white, one again.

There were nurses standing around, monitoring them though Joe didn’t see why. Nobody was making a move to escape or harm themselves or anybody else. They were sitting there silently, eating the garbage that had been served.

And it was garbage. Soft, squishy trash that made Joe long for the Long Island pizza he used to take for granted. He was fairly certain he would miss food the most once he was gone. It was another reason the world was so cruel and there was no God. He loved food so much yet he was absolute trash at cooking and baking.

There was no dessert when they were finished though someone had mentioned every now and then the chefs would surprise them with something good. Joe was fairly certain it wouldn’t taste that good but anything was better than what they had for dinner.

And lunch and breakfast. For lunch, they were given more mush. And for breakfast, either oatmeal or eggs. Not real eggs. The shit that was in the carton. Never omelets, just scrambled. Joe didn’t even like eggs that much but it was all they were serving.

Joe was winding down the days, trying to remind himself that he just had to last the thirty, convince the doctors that he was all good to leave, and then he could go back to his plan. Joe was a good actor. He could pull it off.

When he met with the doctor, he played it off as cool. That is was a once in a lifetime thing and that he was in a place of desperation. He could feel the doctor poking and prodding, trying to find something deep inside him. Joe refused to give in. He wasn’t going to open up anymore. What was the point? Nothing was going to change.

Lying on the couch and crying over his shitty career wasn’t going to make him better. It wasn’t going to turn his writing into gold or his directing into anything Oscar worthy. Carrie Fisher once said to take your broken heart and turn it into art but Joe’s heart wasn’t broken. It was obsolete. It was turned off. Joe didn’t have a heart. He gave that up long, long ago.

It was three days into his stay that he finally interacted with somebody other than a staff member. He had been given access to the garden. Smoking wasn’t allowed but he was damn sure one of the nurses had something of a habit. He was hoping to find the guy and persuade him into letting him take a drag, just a small one. Remind him how hard it was to quit and how he was stuck there for an entire month. Wasn’t that torture enough? Shouldn’t he be given a break and allowed to have a puff or two?

The only staff member outside was an older woman reading a book on the bench, barely paying attention to what was around her. Joe knew well enough the woman was wise and could sense if something’s going on, so he didn’t worry about her lack of attention.

The only other person out there was another guy dressed in white. It was the one who looked out the window and now he was outside. Standing against the wall, leaning there and looking at the ground. In his hand was a lighter — a silver Zippo. He opened and closed it repeatedly.

Joe wondered how he even got it in without someone taking it from him. If he had a lighter, did that mean he had something to light? Joe walked over, standing in front of him for a long while before the blond finally looked up.

“Got a drag?” Joe asked him, cocking his head over to the nurse, who was still invested in her novel.

The blond watched him for a moment, the metallic clicking of the lighter the only sound between them. “Nah,” He spoke softly. “Smoking kills mate.” He had an accent. And his voice was deep. It through Joe off slightly.

“That's kind of the point,” Joe replied. If only it would work a bit faster.

The blond didn’t say anything else. Joe thought about walking away, but he didn’t. “How did you get that in here anyway?”

They checked and double checked, practically searched his ass crack to make sure he didn’t have anything. How the fuck did the blond brit sneak a lighter inside. How the hell was he holding it out in the open without someone rushing over to take it?

“I have my ways.” He answered, pushing off the wall. He pushed passed Joe as he went back inside.

The nurse made a huffing out. Probably to her novel or maybe she was watching them. Joe wasn’t sure.


	2. Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a bit shorter than most so I figured I'd post it early and give you more of Ben. Standard TW for talks of suicide but nothing too graphic.

Joe didn’t plan on making friends at the ward. He wanted to last his stay, go back and properly kill himself in a way that would work this time. He thought about it endlessly. Maybe he would jump off a bridge or tie some bricks to his feet. If he hides his body, they wouldn’t have to clean it up and worry about a burial.

His family would pretend he just ran away to find his own happiness. Everybody was a winner with their own little delusions. It would be easier for everybody involved. The medication they gave him didn’t stop the thoughts, but it felt him feeling . . . different. 

He quickly realized part of the reason nobody was running around or acting like they were in a crazy house was due to them all being hopped up on some kind of drug. How the fuck did they think pumping everybody up with pills and then sending them back to society was curing them? Joe didn’t get it, but he didn’t care. 

Twenty-five days and counting.

The blond with the zippo found him at dinner time, taking his tray and going to sit across from him. Joe didn't interact normally. Just sat down, ate his meal, and then went on his merry way. He didn't care if someone sat with him or not. He wasn't there for communication. They sat there in silence until they didn’t. 

“Down the road, not across the street mate.” He muttered in his deep, somber voice. He gestured towards the scar on Joe’s wrist. He didn’t try to hide it. Didn’t try to pretend. They offered him long-sleeved shirts, but he took the short sleeve. Not like it mattered. It happened and it didn’t work out. Move on and get over it. 

“Yeah. Sort of realized that a bit too late.” Joe answered him. 

The blond swirled his spoon along the wet mashed potatoes. “The bloke over there, the tall one, tried to hang himself but he didn’t measure the rope just right. Ended up slamming to the floor.” 

Joe looked over, seeing the near giant sitting in the corner. He had rope burn around his neck, barely healing.

“The lady across from him tried to swallow pills but used baby aspirin. Wound up nearly puking her living out. Quite amusing really.”

“So what is everybody here just a failure?” He asked bluntly. 

The blond shrugged lazily. “Not everyone. The old man in the corner there succeeded, but they brought him back.” 

The old man was sitting alone at a table, his shoulders straight and his back upright. He didn’t seem bothered to be here. Joe would have been. He lost a lot of blood, but they didn’t have to revive him. He never died. Just passed out. 

“And you?” Joe asked, turning back to his own meal. “What did you do?” 

The blond was quite like he was thinking over his answer. “I failed.” He replied finally. 

Joe left it at that. If the guy didn’t want to talk about it, then he wouldn’t push it. He wondered how he knew about some of the others and their own attempts. It turned out there was a group meeting where everyone had to sit together in a circle and talk about themselves. 

It was ridiculous. Like a pathetic version of AA. Joe sat in a plastic chair, everyone's attention onto him. The doctor asked him to talk about himself. Where he came from and why he was there. Stupid. 

“I’m Joe. I tried to slit my wrist but,” he lifted it up, showing it off. “Apparently I don’t like blood very much.” 

Some others introduced themselves. Joe didn’t know if they were new or just wanted to share. Some mentioned that they had turned to alcohol or drugs to deal with their illnesses. Joe found himself darkly envious. He had never gotten into alcohol. He’d drink every now and then, but never enough to get a real buzz.

He wasn’t popular enough in California to end up in the drug scene. In movies, they make it seem so easy, that dugs are all around. The good shit is too hard to find and yet he had pot, but that's not a real fucking drug. It makes you chill out but even that wasn’t enough to make Joe not want to off himself. 

Gateway drug his ass. 

The brit was there, sitting back casually with his arm thrown over the hair and his legs crossed. He looked too fucking causal for such a setting. 

“Anything you want to share, Ben?” The doctor asked him. 

He was flipping the zippo again. Joe watched, waiting for the doctor to extend their hand and take it from him, but they never did. Ben shrugged. “Nah. I’m good.” He answered. The doctor didn’t push for more. 

When Joe had his own session with the doctor, he brought up the lighter but they just shrugged it off. There was no fluid in it. No fire could be made. “It’s part of his healing.” The doctor has explained. “Is there anything that would help you heal, Joseph?” 

Joe didn’t give an answer. How the fuck could he heal when he wasn’t broken? He wasn’t shattered and didn’t need to be fixed. He just didn’t belong in this world. Easy as that. He had the right to choose what he wanted to do with his life. 

He didn’t want to hear some garbage about how God gave him his life and it wasn’t his choice to do what he wanted with it. His parents gave him his life and his father was gone. His mom wanted him around, but he was a grown ass man. He could fucking choose whether he lived or died. Nobody should be sad. Nobody should be hurt. They wanted him to be happy? Then let him perish dammit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to leave a comment telling me what you thought. Seriously, the comments are really what get me going. Makes this all worth while.


	3. Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter contains mention of the desire to kill one's self and smoking. I'm not pro-smoking. I'm not a smoker and don't condone it. But Joe (this Joe anyway) is an old soul and such.

 

Joe was there a little over a week when a fight finally broke out. He didn’t know what it was about, but punches were thrown and the guys were tossed into solitary confinement. One of the guys had made a shank and because of that everybody had their rooms checked. Joe didn’t have anything. And neither did Ben.

A few people had some things they should have. Like tiny bottles of liquor or pens. Somebody got caught drinking the ink. Someone else has rolling paper that they were licking. And one guy. He had cigarettes.

Joe didn’t know how he did it but he stole some. He was sneaky and distracted one of the nurses while he swiped the loose cigarettes from the container box. He hid them carefully and just held them in the room.

He didn’t have matches or a real lighter. No way to start it up to actually smoke it. So he just held it in his mouth and pretended. He was good at pretending. It was almost good.

People always told her how terrible smoking was and what not. Joe would just roll his eyes. Everybody had their vices, this was just his. Well, this and the whole wanting to kill himself but that was more of a dark personality trait while smoking was a traditional habit. Joe missed the good old days when smoking was accepted and cool. All the handsome men in all the movies; the glamerous women with their cigarette holders. Now if you smoked, you were a shitty person.

Joe knew he was a shitty person. He didn't need a universal reminder of that.

A few days later in the garden, Ben had found him again. Joe was sitting in the corner, facing away from the nurse who had another book in hand. He was sitting there, holding the cigarette in hand. Ben came over and moved to sit beside him. He was watching him, smirking at his attempt.

Reaching forward, he took the cigarette and held it carefully in his hand. “This is theft.” He spoke. “Impressive.”

“You’re positive there’s no lighter fluid in that thing?” Joe asked, almost desperately.

Ben hummed, twirling the cigarette in his fingers. He pulled something out of his pocket then. A pair of glasses. They were fragile but real. Ben turned then, going to sit in the sun. He held the glasses up to the glare, allowing it to shine down on the grass, on the cigarette.

Joe watched with amazement that after a few moments, the paper began to burn. A first starting from the reflection. Like magic.

“Holy fuck,” Joe muttered, his eyes wide. He looked back frantically. The nurse still had her nose in the book. “I think you’re my hero.”

Ben brought the cigarette to his lips to a smooth drag. Joe had never been so jealous of a pair of lips in his life. Reaching forward, he offered the cigarette back to him. “Suck it down, Joey boy. Remember: smoking kills.”

Joe scrambled to take it, bringing it to his lips and taking a deep inhale. It was dusty and musky and it felt like actual heaven. The only thing that would have made it better was if he was smoking pot over tobacco but this was enough for now.

They went back and forth, sharing the cigarette and just sitting together outside. When it was finished, Joe buried the butt in the dirt. His fingers were dirty from doing so and his breath smelt like smoke. When they got back inside, Ben led him into the bathroom.

“Wash your hands.” He told him. “If they see it, they’ll think you ate dirt.” Joe did as he was told, washing his hands roughly with the tiny bit of soap they offered them.

They had a bathroom they shared, only showers, toilets, and a few sinks. He bought the water to his mouth to wash the scent out of it. Ben stood behind him, flipping the zippo aimlessly.

“How many did you take?” He asked him. They were alone for a short moment.

“Four.”

Ben hummed, nodding. His glasses were in his pocket once again. Joe wondered if he even needed them since he never seemed to wear them. “Next time, we’ll only smoke half.” He said and then left the bathroom.

Three cigarettes for three more weeks. They could make it work.

Joe found it strange. Being in this place and making plans. He figured it was just a way of life for them. A way to make the days less long. Less boring. Another way to survive.

The next time he interacted with Ben was during a movie night. They were seated together while some romantic film played out on the screen. Nobody was really paying attention, nobody but Joe.

Joe wondered how they were able to play Gone with the Wind in a place like this, but he didn’t question it. It was one of his favorite films of all time. It was perfectly made, from the script to the acting, from the cinematography to the directing. This was one of the films that made Joe want to be a writer. Made him want to create things.

And it was just another reminder that he never would because never in a million years could he come up with something even half as good as this.

He shifted in the seat when the kiss came on. It was slow and romantic, with the music playing on. The only other person paying attention was Ben and he didn’t seem phased. Did he not see how amazing it was? How sexy for the time period?

Joe had never kissed someone like that. He didn’t deserve a kiss like that. His own romantic love life was garbage. He dated people and slept with people, but never felt anything for them. Nobody understood his passion and his power.

He was a loser anyway. A failure. Who the fuck would want to be with him?’

Movies like these, the good ones. The really good ones would also be something he missed when he was gone. Food and movies. That was it.

When the movie was over everyone was sent to his room. Nobody really spoke, though Ben walked beside him. “What did you think?” Joe asked. He found that Ben was just down the hall from him. It was a short walk so he had a short conversation.

Ben shrugged, spotting by Joe’s door. “It was all right.” He commented.

Joe wanted to tell him that it was more than all right. That it was perfect and wonderful and a fucking classic, but Ben continued.

“Personally I prefer Singin’ in the Rain, but that's just me.”

Joe’s voice was caught in his throat. He hadn’t seen the film in so long. It was another classic. Gene Kelly was a genius. And Debbie Reynolds was a Goddess. Ben went to his room then and Joe went into his own. As he laid back in his bed, he wondered if Ben had never been kissed like Clark Gable and Vivien Leigh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please feel free to tell me what you thought. Honest to God, the length comments I've been getting are what keep me going and make this all worth it. 
> 
> Also feel free to find me on tumblr and talk to me on there. I love Queen and Joe and a bunch of other stuff. 
> 
> http://writeyourownlifestory.tumblr.com/


	4. Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. This is more or less where the story gets its rating. Usual trigger warnings for talks of suicide and such. Also adding sexual content and such onto here.
> 
> Also posting this earlier than expected because I am feeling ill and basically want to die so won’t have time tomorrow.

They sat together for nearly every meal now. Breakfast and lunch and dinner. They sat together during the group session too. Side by side, listening to people talk about their lives. They would roll their eyes together when someone got too dramatic and watched tv together when something halfway decent was on. 

They played ping-pong together and by God was it exciting. They had gotten in trouble due to getting too into it. Joe was swinging his arm too fast, hitting the ball obnoxiously too far off range. Joe was incredibly competitive even if he didn’t look it. 

Ben was threatening to strangle him if he didn’t knock the shit off. Joe told him to do it and the other man practically tackled him out of spite. They rolled around, not really fighting, just needing to see who could make it out on top.

They were ripped apart by the staff and forced into an adult time out. They sat together there too, sitting on the floor, laughing at how ridiculous it was. They sat together in the all-white room, in white clothing and just kept smiling and laughing. 

It was the first time Joe felt something since he arrived. And really it was the first time he felt something in general. 

“You have a nice laugh.” Ben had told him, leaning back against the wall, his knees hunched up. 

The way his accent rolled around the words made Joe’s toes curl. It was deeper than he expected when he first thought and there was an underlining sweetness to it. 

Reaching forward, Joe took the lighter from him. He flipped the lid open and close, mimicking Ben’s movements. The metal was warm from always being held. He liked it. 

“You have a nice everything,” Joe told him because it was true. 

Ben didn’t look real. Not really. He was insanely good looking. Like a fucking Ken doll. Like he was a sculpture turned to life. Made by Michelangelo or Rafael or one of the other fucking ninja turtles. He had an impressive jawline and pretty eyes and nice hair. His lips were pouty and red and Joe thought about him sometimes at night. Like where the fuck did he get off looking so good? 

Ben didn’t reply. He was quiet, flipping his lighter open and closed with his thumb. 

Ben probably thought he was pathetic. Flirting with him when they were literally in time out, in a fucking psych ward. You literally couldn’t get any lower than that. 

But when Joe decided to be brave and make a move, to test what he could do, Ben didn’t push him away. Joe wondered if he really wanted him to. If he wanted Ben to push him away and call him a fag and destroy the friendship they had created because if Joe was anything, he was a self-destructive bastard. 

But he didn’t He kissed him back and ran his finger along his jawline, holding his face close to him. Joe wasn’t sure how long they had in there, but they kept kissing until they heard the door knock from the outside. 

When they were finished with their punishment, they went their separate ways. Joe wondered if they’d pretend like it didn't happen. Joe was completely ready to do just that until it was lights out and Ben slipped into his room. 

It wasn’t like the place was heavily monitored. Two-night guards making sure nobody tried to escape, but the fact that Ben could sneak in and nobody come in to check was surprising. Weren’t they worried about assisted suicides and all that or did they really expect the patients to be too out of it due to all the pills they had been given?

Granted, it would basically be murder but that was all based on the moral backbone of the patient. Killing yourself was easy, but killing someone else? Not worth the trouble really. 

Joe was sitting up in his bed, watching as Ben came closer. He climbed onto the small bed, barely big enough for one of them, let alone both of them. But they made it work, one on top of the other as they kissed and kissed, touched and felt. Getting a feel of one another. 

It was the most enjoyment he’s had in a long time. He had hooked up with people before, but never found something he could cling onto. Girls came and boys went. He wasn’t looking for a solution or a way out. The last thing Joe needed was for someone to think they could pull a Lady Gaga and fix him with their love and be the cure to his depression and self-loathing. 

Joe didn’t want love. He didn’t want to be cured. There was nothing to cure. It was just him and his boring, bleak existence.

They made out for most of the night, subjecting themselves to a bit of heavy petting and dirty talking whispered in the darkness. 

They didn’t have sex, because how could they? They didn’t have condoms or lube, and Joe was fairly certain that nobody in the ward was hooking up. 

But they were. One of the nurses was sleeping with one of the cooks. Ben knew this because it seemed like Ben knew everything. And he used that information to get a condom out of it. 

Ben was a sneaky son of a bitch and Joe loved it. They hadn’t figured out exactly how to do it, like when would be the best time, but the condom was hidden and they took their time to make the plans. Joe figured out that there was a short moment, maybe about twenty minutes, when the guards would switch; one beginning a shift and one staying. Sometimes they’d talk for a bit longer than needed. Catching up on what was new. 

Having sex in the middle of the day wasn’t even romantic, but neither was doing it in a padded room meant for relaxation and punishment. It was one of the rooms wasn't used often and didn’t have a glass panel to look into. They kept the lights off, biting down onto fist and shoulders to keep quiet. They used spit instead of lube, which sucked but the condom was moist enough where they made it work. 

Ben was on top, but that was Joe’s choice. He wanted to feel all of Ben, his fingers, his tongue, his cock. Joe wasn’t a sex-crazed guy but after two weeks of being in this hell hole with a handsome man just down the hall, he was basically a slut for Ben at this point. 

There was someone in their group sessions who admitted they turned to sex to deal with the voices in their head. Joe never understood how one person could just keep going and going, but the longer Ben’s hands were on him, the easier it became to see the appeal.

The sex was rough and slick and amazing. It brought out emotions Joe had forgotten about and when it was over he felt pleased and dirty. It was just six minutes at most which just seemed tortuous, but Ben made it seem longer. 

He was a master at foreplay it seemed. He played Joe like a fiddle and while Joe may not have believed in God, he certainly was ready to get on his knees and praise Ben like he was one. He did exactly that later the night since their condom had been used and the chances of getting another one were slim. 

They laid together afterward, on top of each other to not fall off the bed. The room was dark, but they were close enough to see each other. They talked about little things. What they missed out in the world. Ben didn’t talk much about himself. Joe still didn’t know why he was there. 

Ben had been there long enough to learn about nearly everyone there. Staff and patients alike. He knew who was there for what. How long they were there for. Who would leave or ho was getting better and who was getting worse.

Joe questioned him again on why he was there, but Ben never confessed anything. He remained a mystery, even after his cock had been shoved so deep inside Joe that he was literally in nirvana. 

Joe guessed it was better that way. No point in starting up something new when Joe was still determined to end it all when he got out of there. He talked to the doctor and continued to keep it calm and collected. It got easier really, talking about himself and his problems. He walked to the doctor and he talked to Ben.

Ben was a good listener. He took in everything Joe said, whether they were sitting outside in the garden, sharing a partial cigarette or lying in bed after going as far as they could without full on penetration. 

Ben seemed to understand what it meant to not be enough. Joe talked about having all these thoughts and dreams yet no talent to make it come true. He felt sick to his stomach, wanting to scream and cry. There was another padded room that was meant for those who weren’t doped up on calming pills. They could cry and yell and punch and kick. 

Ben took him there and let him shout. They yelled together, releasing all the tension. Two grown men screaming out into the void. Joe had never been so turned on in his entire life. They were red in the face and panting, heavy and hot. Their chests were rising and falling and Joe grabbed the blond by the shirt, his knuckles white from holding on so tightly as he pulled him in for a kiss. 

Joe was ready to fuck him right then and there, condoms be damned. They didn’t have the time, but he was determined. He used his general knowledge of what was healthy for the body and what wasn’t and did his best job at acting like he gave a shit about the food. 

He helped in the kitchen all day, cooking the food and helping wash the dishes. Eventually, he got what he was looking for and made his way to Ben’s room. He presented the man the tiny bottle of coconut oil that he had snuck out of the kitchen. It was risky but worth it. 

Ben was impressed and slightly amused but kissed him as he missed him. Sex was smoother this time around, not so much rushed. Nobody came by to check on them allowing the two to finally relax afterward. They were sticky and wet and while Joe had no idea if they’d be able to shower at this time of night, he didn’t care. 

They used tissues and spit to clean one another up and laid on the bed. The sheet was wet and Ben covered the spots in extra clothes to make it a bit more comfortable. They laid together in their underwear, leaving the white clothing along the floor. Wrapped up in the itchy wool blanket, they traced their fingers over each other's bodies, mapping one another out. 

When morning came, Joe left before the sun was up. He couldn’t leave Ben a note or anything like that but continued to wait until the other man was up and moving. Joe went to the shower first, stepping into the barely closed off stall. Ben followed, stepping into a stall of his own, standing under the barely hot, barely cold spray. 

Joe thought about switching sides and joining Ben, but he didn’t dare. The last thing he needed was to get in trouble and be forced away from them. Ben, however, feared nothing and made his way into Joe’s stall. 

“If someone sees-” His words were cut off when he felt Ben’s hand wrap around his cock, pumping slowly. 

“They won’t. Trust me.” 

Joe did trust him. So when Ben turned him to face the wall and then proceeded to slid down to his knees, his lips moving along Joe’s ass slowly, squeezing and massaging his skin as he mouth began to explore, Joe was fairly certain he saw the light for the first time in history. 

It turned out that Ben had bribed the guard into not allowing anybody into the bathroom, saying they were working on it, having a water test done or whatever. Joe asked what he had used to bribe him with since they had nothing of worth inside the hospital and Ben confessed to him that prior to arriving he had a pretty decent living wage. 

There were people on the outside he still spoke to and would bring him money every now and then for things. Ben would bribe the staff often apparently. Whether it was for outside food or exert privacy. For one hundred bucks, they were given twenty minutes of alone time in the showers, enough time for Ben to give him the rim job of a fucking lifetime. 

Joe didn’t have much when he arrived, having given half of his shit away so when he died his family wouldn’t have anything to take care of. When he got out, he’d have even less, but that didn’t matter now. 

To be honest, Joe hasn’t thought of leaving, even as the days went by and his time was almost up. Being around Ben stopped the dark thoughts inside his head for a time or two. His depression wasn’t gone and he still hated the world, but it was less painful when they were together. 

The doctor noticed this, revealing to him that something changed in the way he acted and spoke about himself. Joe wanted to say that receiving multiple orgasms could do a lot for a man's outlook on life but he decided to keep that to himself. 

Joe was still determined to stick to his plan, but he couldn’t help but wonder what Ben was going to do once he was gone. Would he continue to be at the ward? Would he go out into the real world and continued to survive on his own accord? 

Ben didn’t like talking about himself and the doctor refused to tell him what was going on with Mr. Hardy. Patient information couldn’t be shared and all that bullshit. Fucking stupid. If Ben wanted to stay a mystery, then so be it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We are getting warming to find out why Ben is in the ward. Until then, please feel free to comment and tell me what you thought. I cherish each and every comment. Even if it's just a few words. It's the pure reactions that keep me going and keep me writing. 
> 
> PS, please don't actually use coconut oil as lube. I googled and some sites said it was okay and others didn't. Joe might have an itchy asshole after this -- like that guy didn't have enough problems!


	5. Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Piece by piece the truth about Ben Hardy is coming out.

That mystery, however, was shattered just days later when a new patient was brought into the ward. Ben and Joe were sitting together on the couch. They were close, pressed together as they watched an old Shirley Temple reel play on the tv. Joe’s fingers ran slowly along Ben’s leg while Ben caressed his forearm. It wasn’t teasing or sexy. It was for comfort. Joe liked touching him, whether it was gentle or rough. Holding hands or jerking off their heavy, wet cocks. Sweet or sexy, he didn’t care. 

They had made time for one another time. Practically attached at the hip. Joe had never had that before. Sure, they were literally stuck at the place, so it wasn’t like they wouldn’t see one another around, but they chose this. Chose to be around one another. Chose to sit together, watching tv or playing games or going to the garden. 

Chose to kiss one another slowly, talking quietly to keep the staff from knowing one another. Chose to use coconut oil as lube in order to make sex more bearable. And sure, maybe they did all those things because it was better than being alone. 

But Joe had been alone before and he didn’t mind it. He chose to be alone. He didn’t know if Ben was a real choice, but if so, it was very tempting.

The man approached them carefully, staring intensely. He looked familiar, but Joe couldn’t place him. He was tall and handsome with a strange name and an accent to boot. Joe wasn’t jealous. Mostly because Ben didn’t even look at him when he came over. He just kept watching the child star singing and dancing on screen, his pointer finger running up and down Joe’s arm slowly.

“You’re him.” He mentioned, pointing to Ben. 

“Can I help you mate?” Ben asked, utterly confused and quite annoyed that the new guy was blocking his view. 

“You’re Ben Hardy.” He replied. 

“And you’re in my way,” Ben told him harshly. “Trying to watch The Little Princess so kindly sod off.” 

“I had your picture in my room.” The man — Gwilym — told him. He came closer, kneeling in front of the two now. “I idolized you. That billboard in London? I came all the way from Bristol just to see that.”

“You’re confused, mate,” Ben spoke, his voice short. Joe looked down, noticing that Ben had grabbed his hand and held it tightly. 

Gwilym shook his head frantically, moving closer. “No, no! I know you’re him. Same eyes, same jaw line. I read the reports and watched you on the news. You did the right thing. All those bastards deserved to die. You did the right thing!” 

“You better shut your mouth before I shut it for you!” Ben stood too quickly, causing Gwilym to fall back. The staff came forward, pulling the new guy away and pushing Ben back to sit down. 

“No touching!” One of the nurses said. Joe didn’t know if it was because Ben was still holding his hand or if they thought Ben had shoved Gwilym to the floor. 

“Get this nosy ponce out of my face before I punch his lights out!” Ben threatened harshly. 

“Hey, hey. Relax.” Joe spoke softly, placing his hand on Ben’s shoulder. The blond was seething, practically growling with anger. 

“Get to your room, Hardy.” One of the nurses ordered. 

Ben stormed off, leaving Joe behind to wonder what the hell just happened. Later on, when they were together, alone in one of the rooms, Joe could see Ben was still angry. Joe had found out that Gwilym was brought in due to some public indecent brought on a bad case of schizophrenia. Ben scoffed, insisting that the man was insane and didn’t know what the fuck he was talking about. 

Joe knew there was more to the story but didn’t press for the issue. Ben looked so angry. He kept clenching and unclenching his fist and he looked like he was ready to punch the wall. 

Deciding to attempt to make things better, Joe left the room, coming back a few minutes later. Later that night, when it was time to go to bed, Joe told Ben to meet him in the sitting room. There was an old radio there, bolted to the wall. He turned it on, searching until he found a song he liked. 

He had given up his last cigarette for a moment of privacy. It wasn’t as good as one hundred dollars, but the nurse didn’t have a chance to go out and buy some more. He took the cigarette and went out for his break, giving Joe and Ben ten minutes alone. 

The first song was some pop jam that Joe danced to on his own. He wanted to make Ben laugh. To amuse him as this lanky white guy danced along to some girl telling the person she was singing to that she didn’t want perfection, just them. 

It seemed to do the trick for the most part. Ben stood there, his brow raised as he watched him. When that song ended, another began. 

The song played out slowly. It wasn’t one Joe knew, but it was one he could dance to. He pulled Ben in, forcing him to dance with him. He tried to make it playful. Twirling in his arms and swaying to the music. He pulled himself out and then spun back in. It was enough to make Ben smile, even enough to have him playfully dip him. 

When the nurse came back, the two broke apart, but not because they didn’t want to be seen, but because they had more stuff on their mind. Ben had always been the giving one when it came to their relationship (was it a relationship?) and tonight Joe wanted to change that. 

Going back to Ben’s room, which was cleaned up with new sheets and all, Joe pushed Ben onto the bed and got to work. He kissed along his body, touching him softly. He left little marks here and there; tiny reminders of what he could do to this man. He rode him slow and carefully, letting Ben sit up against the headboard as they kiss sensually. They finished together, almost in a soft, strange unison. 

The smell of coconut oil had oddly enough become one of Joe’s favorite things in the world and yet another thing to add onto the list of things he would miss when he was gone. 

As they laid together, falling asleep in one another arms, Joe thought for the first time in a long time that maybe he didn’t have to leave so soon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) I apologize for what I've done to Gwilym. I adore him, but I needed someone to torture for a bit.  
> 2) The song Joe dances to is "I Remember" by Betty Who. Check it out, I beg of you.  
> 3) Please feel free to tell me what you think. Interacting in the comments gives me a reason to keep writing.


	6. Six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ALERT! This chapter has a few more Trigger Warnings. While I have glazed over it, mostly just mentioning things, I must say that talk of past child abuse/sexual abuse as well as present abuse is spoken of in this chapter.
> 
> You all waited to see why Ben was at the ward. Here it is. 
> 
> Please enjoy.

It was a week until he was supposed to leave and Joe decided to tell the doctor that he planned on killing himself. It was only partially true now but if the doctor believed him, then there might have been a chance that he could stay. 

It was sad, really. Joe’s whole existence was sad, but this was pushing it. Wanting to stay just for Ben and not because he actually wanted to focus on getting better. Joe didn’t want to get better. He was okay with how he was, but nobody needed to know that. 

As he sat outside the office, waiting for his turn to go in and speak to the doctor, Gwilym appeared. He was smiling eagerly as he approached, something folded up in his hands. 

“Will you give this to him?” Gwilym asked, offering the folded up paper. “To Mr. Hardy? Will you ask him to sign it?” 

Before Joe could ask him what the hell he was talking about, the paper was laying on his lap and Gwilym ran off to join the others outside. Taking the paper, Joe unfolded it carefully. 

It was straight out of a magazine. Maybe Vogue or GQ. It was a professionally taken picture. A bit of wording was on it, talking about the hottest up and coming men in the fashion industry. Ben’s name was written on it, as well as a picture of Ben himself. 

There was no way in denying that it was Ben. Joe knew his face well enough by now. Deciding it was a fine time to get some answers, he went to Ben’s room. He had told Ben everything there was to know about him. His dreams, ambitions, why he tried to kill himself in the first place. He poured his heart out of the man. Joe demanded he does the same. 

He showed the picture to Ben and he seemed frozen at the sight of it. He grabbed it, looking it over like it was a page ripped from the fucking bible. And in an instant, he ripped it apart, scattering the pieces to the floor. Joe felt terribly for Gwilym, but that didn’t matter right now. 

“Ben, come on. Just tell me what this is about.” Joe demanded of him carefully. He wasn’t going to judge. How could he? Look where they are. If Joe could fuck up his own suicide, than surely he could handle whatever truth bombs Ben could throw at him. “So what, were you a model or something?”

“Or something,” Ben replied, sitting back on the bed, zippo lighter in hand. 

“I have told you everything — everything —about myself. I barely know a thing about you. For fuck sake, sometimes I think you’re not even real. Like some ghost that roams the halls and fingers me when the lights are out.” 

“How romantic,” Ben spoke lazily. 

“Shut the fuck up!” Joe snapped. “I just want to know you! I want to know all about you, why can’t you just give me something. Anything!” 

“You know I come from London. You know my birthday and small hobbies.” 

“Thats not enough, Ben.” Joe muttered, his eyes narrowing. 

Ben didn’t say another word. He just flipped the lid of the zippo open and shut. Outranged, Joe snatched the lighter from his hand. 

“Oy! The fuck is your problem? Give it back,” Ben told him sternly.

Joe clenched the zippo in his hand. “No.”

Ben rose from the bed, stepping closer. “Give it. Now.” 

“No!” Joe repeated. 

“Either give me the lighter or—”

“Or what?” Joe cut off. “Are you gonna hit me? Is that how you ended up in here? Did you beat someone up? What, did you stab someone along the streets in London? What is it?”

“Why the fuck does it even matter?”

“BECAUSE!” Joe shouted. For a moment he thought somebody would come inside and break them up, but it never happened. “Because I need to know that this is real. That you are real and that I am not just making this up in my head as some subconscious way to stay alive.” 

Ben shook his head, taken back. “I’m not some savior, you know.” He muttered. “I’m not your knight in shining armor, here to make you want to live again.” 

Joe turned away, running his hands through his hair, mumbling to himself. 

“You really wanna know why I’m in here?” Ben asked him. 

“Obviously!” 

“All right. You wanna know? Then I’ll fuckin tell ya. But strap in. This ain’t no rainbows and sunshine story.” 

Joe wanted to argue that nobody came to a place like this for a good reason. Each patient was dealing with their own demons. Ben wasn’t any different.

“I was a model. Have been since I was a kid. Thousands of pictures of me have been taken and posted and shared. Magazines, billboards, websites. All kinds of websites. Everybody liked me because of the way I look. Some people liked to be a little too much. I was a cute kid. A bit too cute. And when I got older, the cuteness went away and different people wanted me for different reasons.” 

Joe tried to take it all in. Tried to understand what Ben was getting at. 

“I had a manager. Guy took me on when I was just a boy. Took care of me or so he told people.” Ben’s eyes remained on his though Joe could see something come over them. A dark realization of what had really transpired between Ben and his former manager. 

“Fucker groomed me. Made me into his little plaything. I would smile for the cameras but the smile was fake. I would meet dozens of people and they each took a piece of me for themselves. It took me a long time to realize what was going on and by the time I did, it was too late. I was used up. In pictures, I looked good but deep down I was nothing. That lighter there? I used it to set our loft on fire. I wanted us to both burn. I wanted these good looks to melt away so I could finally be free. Instead, when I was pulled from the wreckage, I was labeled a pyromaniac and murderer.

“I had a lawyer who used the abuse to my advantage. Instead of jail time, I came here. I’m not depressed or crazy. I don’t need pills to make me happy. I just need the world to forget that I ever existed so I can live my life freely.” 

“So what you just use this as your fucked up vacation spot?” Joe sounded bitter and angry, but he wasn’t. He was confused and hurt and filled with rage over a guy that was already dead and buried, but that didn’t matter now. “A place to get away until you’re ready for the outside world?” 

“Like you’re one to talk. You spend your thirty days and put on a brave face when you fully plan on offing yourself the moment you’re left alone again once you’re out. You’re not better than me, Mazzello.” 

“Nobody is better or worse. We’re in a fucked up situation and you…” Joe shook his head. 

Here he was feeling like trash because nobody thought he had any talent. Meanwhile, Ben had been used in the worst of ways, all the while having to look like he was walking on cloud nine. 

Joe couldn’t imagine that life, even if he tried. Joe wanted so much from his life but received nothing. At first glance, Ben was given a perfect life but deep down it was nothing but pain and sorrow. 

Joe didn’t know what to say. Reaching out, he offered Ben the lighter. The blond took it carefully in his hands. 

“I didn’t want to use you,” Joe told him. 

Maybe that's what he did. He used Ben to make his 30 days stay here a little more bearable. Maybe they used each other. He didn’t know, but he hated himself regardless. 

“I want to know you. To know the real Ben Hardy. Not the pretty face in that picture or the silent, brooding guy that looks out the window. I care about you.” 

Ben licked his lips, adjusting his stance. “You’d be the first.” He muttered, going to sit back on the bed. 

“There’s a first time for everything,” Joe mumbled, watching him go. 

Joe stood there, wondering if he should just leave. It wasn’t worth the awkwardness, but he just couldn’t leave. So instead he stayed. He moved closer and closer until his knees hit the bed. He climbed onto the mattress and sat beside Ben, squeezing in so they could both fit. He laid his head against Ben’s shoulder, waiting for something to happen. 

For one of them to break. 

He took Ben’s hand in his own, squeezing it tightly. “Life isn’t fair.” He muttered finally, like its something insanely profound and not pathetically obvious. 

Ben snorted, turning his head to press his lips to Joe’s hairline. “Tell me about it, buddy.” Ben ran his fingers along Joe’s wrist, the scar slowly fading. “Seven more days.” He mentioned aloud. “Can’t stay here forever.” 

Joe hummed, closing his eyes tightly. “And neither can you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, what did you think? I tried to keep it as casual as possible while dealing with such a heavy subjection. 
> 
> I obviously took personal liberties with Ben's life. This has nothing to do with the real Ben and his own personal life.
> 
> If you are someone dealing with personal trauma, don't let it settle until it finally explodes. Don't set people on fire. Or yourself. 
> 
> Or do whatever you want! Who am I to tell you what to do.
> 
> But please leave a comment, I'd love to know what you thought.


	7. Seven

When Joe met with the doctor for the final time, he opened to about himself. About his depression. About never feeling like he is enough. He confessed that death would have been an outlet for him. A way to stop the pain. It wasn’t rude or selfish, it wasn’t mean or bad. It was heartbreaking. And while it was Joe’s decision, in the end, that didn’t mean it wasn’t always the choice to make. 

Joe confessed that he was still sad and tired. That he still wanted to enter the void. But he also admitted that he would miss a lot more things than he first thought. More than just food, though there was a lot of different types of food he hadn’t tried yet. 

And more than movies, though there were a lot of different movies he hadn’t seen yet. 

He would miss baseball. Playing it and watching it. He had so many memories of his brother and father playing the game. They seemed so distant now, but they were still something he cherished. 

He would miss his family, even if a large part of it was gone. And he would miss his friends, though he didn’t see them often. He would miss his work, even if nobody else appreciated it but himself. 

And he would miss Ben, even if they couldn’t be together. 

Joe knew he would die eventually and for now, that was enough to hold him off from speeding up the process. He knew that surviving was important, but what he really wanted was to live. And when his 30-day stay was up, that's exactly what he planned to do. 

When it came time to say goodbye, he found it bittersweet. He hadn’t made any real friends there, but the nurses were nice and after getting used to seeing them every day it would be a strange change for him.

When he went to find Ben, to say goodbye, he found him leaving Gwilym’s room. The taller man was holding a box tightly in his arms, thanking Ben over and over again. When Ben spotted Joe in the hallway, he made his way over. 

“Had a friend of mine drop off some old magazine covers I did; thought I’d make it up to him for ripping up his picture.” 

“Did you sign them all?” 

“Every last one.” 

“Think he’s going to jerk off to them?”

“Oh, without a doubt.” 

The two smiled, standing there. Ben, dressed in white. Joe, dressed in khaki colored pants and a red plaid shirt. 

“Think you’ll ever leave this place?” 

Ben shrugged, looking around. “It’s not so bad. They’re having chocolate cake tonight.” 

“Right. Of course, they are.” Not one fucking sweet since he arrived and now they deserve the cake? These fucking bastards. “Well. If you’re ever in New York. Hit me up.” 

“That is the straights thing you’ve ever said to me,” Ben commented. 

Joe rolled his eyes but stepped in for an embrace. Ben tightened his hold, practically shoving Joe’s backpack off his shoulder in the process. He kissed his cheek when they pulled away and Joe looked back only once when he left. 

When his brother pulled up to take him home, Joe hopped into the front seat. His brother was speaking a mile a minute, telling him about everything he had planned for him once they arrived home.

Going through his backpack to make sure they had given him everything back, Joe found something hidden inside the zippered pocket. 

A zippo lighter. Silver and warm and warn in, with zero lighter fluid inside of it. Joe took it out and held it in his palm, bringing it to his lips for a soft kiss. 

That fucker.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So there will be one more chapter after this. An epilogue if you will. I hope you enjoyed this story. One of my favorites really. Please feel free to leave a comment down below. I love hearing from everybody.


	8. Eight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Suicide is a permanent solution to a temporary problem -- Phil Donahue

 

Being back on Long Island wasn’t the absolute torture Joe thought it would be. His brother made room for him at his home, with his wife and kids. Joe hated it at first, not wanting to be a bother or a burden. He didn’t want to be babysat, but he knew how it had to be.

He went along with it, wanting it to be as easy as possible for his family. He didn’t have much anymore so moving in the spare bedroom was easy enough. He had some clothes and a few DVDs. Books and small collectibles. He had given the rest away, leaving him with just two boxes.

His brother helped him find a job, which was just a starting off point. He had worked in Hollywood and knew some people, but it wasn’t worth branching out. He didn’t have anything to offer them, not yet at least.

Maybe Carrie Fisher was onto something when she said that whole thing about broken hearts and art. Joe was writing again. This time was different. He didn’t know if what he had was a masterpiece but it was at least something people could relate to.

On top of his script, he had begun working on a blog. It killed in a strange way, having a fucking blog. Who the fuck blogged anymore? Maybe he would vlog over time. Video himself in the car, talking about his way. How he was feeling.

It had an impressive following, he had to admit. Who knew so many people felt the same way he did. Not wanting so much to die but just to stop existing for a few moments. Let the world forget they were even there so you could just embrace their own personal peculiar solace.

Writing about his depression made it better. Joe knew there was no magical way to make himself feel better. He wasn’t going to wake up one day and forget about everything, go back to being the happy-go-lucky man he once way. But he was getting better. Piece by piece.

It took a lot of hard work and Joe wasn’t too sure if it would ever truly pay off but he was good for now. He wasn’t surviving but living. Day by day, each day at a time.

He thought of visiting Ben. Of heading back to the facility and visiting him as a person, not a patient but he decided against it. He didn’t know where he stood with the man. He had given him the lighter — which sat on his nightstand as a constant reminder to live and keep on living.

He thought about him endlessly and wrote about him in the blog, never by name but rather the person that inspired him to keep on giving even with the pain in his chest and hurting in his head. Ben might not have wanted to be a guardian angel but he was, in one way or another.

Joe had been out for a little over two months when things began picking up. He was invited to do a podcast, to talk about his time at the ward and how living with what he was didn’t always have to end the way he originally planned it.

Joe wasn’t going to be some spokesman for the pain but bringing up suicidal awareness and the reasoning behind people wanting to do it was something he could get behind. If he could help destroy the stigma around it, then he’d eventually die a happy man.

His family relaxed a little around him, though he was sure the fear would always linger in the back of their mind. The worry that one day he’d just have enough and end it all. And maybe he would. Nobody knew. Joe was fighting and that was all that mattered.

It was on a warm day when his family was out and he was alone for one of the first times since he arrived back home. He had finished another page of his script, a small film he was hoping to send to a friend back in California. Joe still dreamt of directing, but he knew he couldn’t do it on his own. He was almost finished. Just a few more things he had to tweak and decide on what he wanted the outcome to be.

Realistic or hopeful.

Or maybe, just maybe, it could be both.

Joe was staring at his typewriter, watching a classic on the tv when he heard the door knock. He hadn’t ordered food just yet, so he went to answer it curiously.

Standing before him was the beautiful blond man he had left behind. He wasn’t in white, but denim and blue. It made his eyes pop in the most fantastic of ways.

“Oh,” Joe muttered, taken back by the sight of him. “Hi.”

“You are one hard man to find, Joseph Mazzello. Nassau, New York. Long Island. Seriously?”

Joe shrugged. Long Island wasn’t too terrible. It wasn’t the city or the valley but it was good enough for now.

“When did you get out?” Joe asked, leaning against the doorway.

“Earlier this week,” Ben answered. “Met up with some old friends. Got my things together and what not.”

“Oh yeah? That’s . . . that’s amazing, Ben. I’m happy for you.”

The two stood there silently, just feet apart. Ben shifted from one leg to another. “Did I come at a bad time?” He asked, peering into the home.

Joe realized the poor man probably thought he was with somebody. Had someone else in the home that he didn’t want Ben to see.

“I’m alone,” Joe told him. “For the first time in a long time.”

“Ah. Progress.”

“Do you want to come in?”

Ben shrugged lazily. “Came all this way,” He confessed.

Joe laughed softly, moving to step aside so Ben could enter. He kept it casual until he was inside the home and the door was closed behind him. After that, he pressed the blond against the door and kissed him deeply, holding onto him as if he was going to disappear in a matter of moments.

“Took you long enough,” He breathed when they pulled apart.

Kissing him was like coming up for air after diving into a deep pool. Refreshing and relieving. Joe had been waiting for this moment for far too long.

“Oh shut the fuck up,” Ben muttered, kissing him again. And then again and again. “Does your brother have any coconut oil by chance?”

“Oh my god, I think I actually hate you,” Joe muttered, shoving Ben down the hallway towards his bedroom.

“Oy! Is that Singin in the Rain?” Ben called out, turning his head towards the tv in the living room. Joe just kept on pushing him until they were in the privacy of his bedroom, musical forgotten and left playing in the background.

It was nice to have him home, especially when it finally felt like home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who gave this story a chance, and a special thank goes out to DignityofStarvingWolves who I think I might have actually broken. I have one other story coming up for these boys. While I like to tell myself I am a writer, fanfiction is not something I have ever been very good at. I've tried in the past, but I always lose interest, especially when there are so many other writers out there who can come up with such different stories and make it seem so effortless. 
> 
> The final story will be posted soon enough and that one was a lot of fun to write, but this will forever be one of my favorites. Hope you enjoy the ending and please feel free to share your thoughts in the comment section.
> 
> PS! The moodboard was created by the fantastic real---remy on tumblr. Check them out!!!

**Author's Note:**

> Please feel free to leave a comment. I did my best to fix any corrections and I apologize if there are some left over. Please read, review, share and find me on tumblr to say hi! WriteYourOwnLifeStory @ tumblr do com


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